


Bed Sores

by aneurysmface



Series: Oh, Common Life [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, maybe next time, sorry that I didn't write the porn more explicitly, spoilers for the end of season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneurysmface/pseuds/aneurysmface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the first time Peter and Chris have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed Sores

There was a chill starting to settle into the air of Beacon Hills when Peter gets drunk for the first time in a long time. The last time he’d been this drunk, he’d gone to stand outside of Chris Argent’s house as the man packed up his belongings after Victoria had died. This time… this time is the tenth anniversary of the fire. Ten years since he’d listed to his family burn alive because of _that bitch_.

Coincidentally, it was also the second anniversary of Allison Argent’s death.

When he had been younger, Peter had never thought he’d be able to stand the thought of looking at an Argent, let alone speaking to one--and God forbid, maybe falling for one. Now, Peter is thinking about how he hopes Chris isn’t alone tonight.

They’d become allies after the nogitsune incident. Chris had become a part of the pack because he’d taken Isaac in, because Derek trusted him, and because Scott was still clinging to that last remnant of Allison. They’d become friends after Chris had stormed into a burning building and pulled Peter out after Peter had frozen up, memories overwhelming him to the point where he couldn’t make himself move to safety.

Chris had stayed with Peter for a few days after that, making sure that Peter ate and slept and didn’t just stare off into nothing like he’d done for six years. After that… well, it was hard to convince himself that all Argents were bad people when one had just slept on an Ikea couch for three days to make sure he stayed alive.

Peter knew that he and Chris were connected somehow. It had been no accident that they had met that night eighteen years ago. Peter had read the signs; Chris had been thinking about killing himself. And why not? Everybody in town knew the stories of how Gerard Argent treated his children. On top of that, Peter knew which ones were true, which ones were false, and which ones were sugar-coated. Most of them were sugar-coated. Chris, at 21, would be shipped off to marry a woman he’d probably never met, but who came from a good family of hunters. Peter knew from watching in the shadows around town that Chris definitely wasn’t into the idea of being with a woman.

When Peter had run out to the quarry that night, and what Chris still didn’t know was that Peter had thrown himself off that cliff hoping the fall would kill him. Peter’s told him bits of what his life was like: teenage parents who left him with his father’s older sister for raising because they weren’t ready, always being expected to be perfect because he was the oldest Hale boy… his situation and Chris’ situation hadn’t been that different, in hindsight. They’d all lived through one hell or another, but Peter had always assumed his was the worst--and for a while, it was.

But now, here they were. Peter had a nephew, a niece, and a daughter who refused to acknowledge his existence, while Chris had an adopted wolf pack to call family and a father he’d disowned sitting in a wheelchair spitting black goo into a napkin. What a pair they were…

Peter had sworn that he was done with being formally involved with the pack. He’d help out from time to time (hence the burning building incident), but he didn’t go to pack meetings and he certainly didn’t go to the annual summer barbecue that Melissa had started two years ago. But since he’d started talking to Chris more, he was starting to want that sense of belonging again…

He hits ‘dial’ on his phone before he even registers that he’d pulled up Chris’ contact card.

“‘eter? What do you want?” Chris’ voice is rough with sleep or alcohol. Peter can’t tell which, but he feels a shiver run up his spine because he likes how it sounds.

“Are you busy, Chris?” Peter can hear the rustle of sheets--sleep, then--when Chris sits up.

“Are you OK, Peter?”

“Yeah, ‘m good...ish.” Peter takes another pull from the bottle of whiskey--Jack Daniel’s, just like that night long ago. “You sound concerned. Why are you concerned?”

“You never call me ‘Chris’...” Chris’ voice trails off there, softens, “It’s always ‘Christopher’ with you.”

“I guess it is…” Peter drifts off into memory, trying to come up with a time when he’d used just ‘Chris’ instead of ‘Christopher’ when addressing the man, but he can’t do it.

“Peter!” Chris yells and yanks Peter back into reality.

“Huh, yeah, what?”

“I asked why you called me at one a.m. on a Wednesday.”

“Oh. Right. I was cold.”

“You were cold…”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s frost on the window and the heat’s not really working in my apartment and it was chilly.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“A bit, maybe?”

Peter hears the sigh as if Chris was standing just behind him.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming over.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“I’m going to prove you wrong in nine and a half minutes.”

“Oh my, Christopher. Is that a promise?” Peter is smirking, hiding behind the whiskey and false bravado as he makes the jab at Chris.

“If you want it to be.” And oh, Peter was not expecting that. His smirk falls and his eyes soften.

“You don’t mean that.” Peter says, even as he hears the _snick_ of a belt sliding into place and the slide of metal on fabric that means Chris is sliding a gun into his waistband.

“Nine minutes.”

“Christopher…”

“Peter, I’m coming over whether you want me to or not at this point.”

“I was just going to tell you that the door was unlocked. Didn’t want you scaring my neighbors by trying to pick it.”

Peter imagines that he can see Chris’ smile at that. He can hear the huff of laughter just fine, but it somehow isn’t the same without seeing Chris’ eyes crinkle and his mouth spread wide in a grin.

Eight and a half minutes after Peter loses himself in the thought of Chris’ smile, he hears his front door opening.

“You’re early.” He says, not moving from where he’s reclining on his bed, glasses on his nose (residual damage from the fire to his eyes. Like Deucalion’s, Peter’s may never heal on their own. Chris knows this.) and a book in his hands.

“And you’re not drunk.”

“Au contraire, Christopher. I was drunk and I am still slightly intoxicated, but I sobered up just for you.”

“I’m touched.”

“I’d like to touch you even more.” Peter doesn’t pull any punches, just puts what he wants out there. It’s up to Chris now.

Mostly, Peter expects him to turn right back around and leave. He’s not prepared for the way that Chris’ lip curls upward and a low growl that would make most wolves cower works its way out of his chest. He’s definitely not ready for how Chris swings the door shut and locks it in one smooth motion. His brain nearly short circuits when Chris pulls off the leather jacket he’d put on to guard against the crisp air, and Peter can catch sight of the edges of a tattoo on Chris’ right shoulder. He tosses the jacket on the back of Peter’s uncomfortable couch and slips the gun out of his waistband to leave on top of it.

What he’s most unprepared for is the way that Chris walks over to Peter’s bed and lays down on the open side without hesitation.

“Your boots are on my bed, Christopher.” Peter closes his book and puts it on the nightstand. His glasses follow shortly after.

“So take them off.” Chris’ voice is steady, even if his heartbeat isn’t. But then, Peter’s isn’t exactly beating the smoothest rhythm at the moment either.

He swallows sharply, but finds himself moving to the end of the bed, his fingers shaking as he undoes the perfect knots and slips the boots off of Chris’ feet. Peter pulls his socks off next, and he’s never been a foot guy, but Chris has good feet--strong feet, feet that could march for days if necessary. He looks up and locks eyes with Chris, is taken aback by the heat he sees in Chris’ gaze.

Before he knows what he’s doing, as so often happens when Chris is involved, Peter is crawling up the bed and straddling his hips. He ducks his head down so that he and Chris are breathing the same air and all Peter can see is the amazing electric blue of Chris’ eyes.

“Are you waiting for an in--” Peter cuts Chris off with a violent kiss that Chris returns twice as hard.

One of Chris’ hands comes up to rest of Peter’s ass, pinning him there against Chris’ growing erection, and the other slips into Peter’s hair, pulling just hard enough to get a growl out of Peter.

It’s quick and dirty and Chris will need to borrow a pair of jeans or do laundry in the morning because he comes in his pants like a teenager after only a few moments and Peter follows seconds later. They lay for a moment, Peter’s head tucked into the crook of Chris’ neck, taking deep breaths in through his nose and committing the scent to memory. Chris has one hand tangled in Peter’s hair, fingers rubbing soft circles into his scalp, while the other runs gently up and down Peter’s spine.

Peter breaks the silence. “Never thought I’d do that with a hunter.”

“ _Ex_ -hunter.” Chris says and Peter’s head rises so he can look Chris in the eyes. “And for what it’s worth, I never thought I’d do that with a wolf.”

“ _Were_ wolf, thank you very much. I’m not entirely an animal.” Peter’s grinning and Chris grins back as they start to laugh at the absurdity of their situation. A hunter and a werewolf.

Peter rolls off of Chris and heads to the bathroom for a washcloth. When he walks back to the bed, he’s stripped down to a fresh pair of boxer-briefs, but Chris is laying naked on the bed. Peter grins, his eyes flashing supernaturally blue for a moment at the sight, before he leans in and kisses Chris--gently this time, full of care--and starts to clean Chris off before bed.

He takes the washcloth back to the bathroom and dumps it in the hamper, remembers to grab a second pair of boxer-briefs for Chris, and returns to bed. Chris is already starting to drift off when Peter slips the underwear onto him and climbs in beside him, pulling the covers over their shoulders. He’s only slightly surprised when Chris wraps an arm around his waist and curls around Peter’s back. He melts when he feels Chris press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Goodnight, Christopher.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Bed Sores](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U4Syx6ljWW4) by Fireworks.


End file.
